


Little Fish

by AceSpace



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Native American/First Nations Mythology, Slavic Mythology & Folklore
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mermaids, Siren, Sirens, little fish - Freeform, mermaid, myths, the siren - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceSpace/pseuds/AceSpace
Summary: Mermaids, Sirens, Selkies, Iara, Merrow, Rusalka - the legends come close, but none of them are quite close enough. In this world, they are those who would die at sea, violent deaths cut short by the Ocean's mercy. They are diverse tribes, taking on the characteristics of the nearest pack animals and becoming stewards of the ocean kingdoms.While an arctic tribe is leading the orcas south for mating season, the pack is attacked by Russian soldiers.*Takes place in a modified MCU, Russian soldiers are Hydra soldiers. Will feature Winter Soldier.*





	1. Legend of the Deep

#  **Legend of the Deep**

 

_ Arctic Waters,  1886 _

 

      When Sofia had first boarded the ship, the crew had made light-hearted jokes about what sort of luck a woman on board would bring. None of them were the superstitious sort, and they knew her well - after all, she was the wife of their beloved Captain. She had sailed with them before, short trips for a day or three, a week at the longest. But her husband had insisted that she come on a longer voyage.

      All was well, at first. The sailing was difficult, and by the crew’s growing weariness, Sofia could tell it was not usually so hard on them. After a month of such misfortune, she began hearing dark whispers from the newer members. As sickness spread through their ranks, so too did the whispers. After the first death, the whispers became louder, their stares turning harsh and accusatory. 

      Sofia’s husband laughed when she brought up the men’s growing superstitions and suggested that she might return home. 

      The sickness took him the next week. The first mate had promised the grieving woman safe return to port, but that was before the storm. It seemed to come from nowhere - the winds howling, the waves rising, as though to swallow the ship whole. The men lost to their fear, overthrowing the first mate.

      “The Sea is angry with us! We must make amends!” One of them insisted. And so they came for her. Sofia fought with all of her might, clawing and kicking. They bound her legs to stop her from running. The bound her arms to stop her from fighting. And then they threw her overboard - a sacrifice to appease the angry gods. 

      The icy waters felt like pins driven into every nerve. Yet still, she fought. If only she could free her legs, If only she could make some progress towards the surface! Her lungs screamed for air and finally, she could hold her breath no longer.  

      The salt water burned. Her body convulsed, rejecting the vile water. The fight was starting to leave her body. But then what felt like hands were freeing her arms. Her eyes looked around in the darkness. She could swear she saw human shaped dark blobs surrounding her - but that wasn’t possible! Strong hands spun her around. The face before her was terrifying, but she wasn’t afraid. The person had a soft feminine face. From the mouth upwards, her skin was entirely black, the only white being that of her eyes. Her bottom lip and jaw were stark white, easily visible in the water. A small circlet rested on her forehead, with sharp combs forcing her hair away from her face. The tresses flowed around her - a dark halo disrupted by two white streaks, one on each side. Sofia gasps - the person was half woman, half whale killer. When she opened her mouth, Sofia could see the sharp jagged teeth. Her voice came out in soft whistles and clicks. Yet somehow she understood what the woman was telling her.

      “Fight,” She said, “Fight and live.” 

      The dark figures circling them began to sing - not as humans sing but as the whales sing out. Sofia began fighting again. She did not think to lose the ropes. She hardly felt those anymore. She kicked as the whales did, though she only seemed to stop herself from sinking further. She exhaled and took another deep breath of salt water - fighting through the burn. Until the ache began to fade. The ropes slid from her body. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could make out the other women - each patterned after the whales, but each unique to her eyes. The Song of Calling ended when Sofia was one of them at last. The leader - the one who had freed Sofia - called out for a hunt. Immediately the pod took off, shooting after the ship that had sentenced Sofia to death.

      She kicked off after them - a rage settled into her veins. 

      It did not take them long to find the wreckage. The storm had smashed the ship against the ice. The woman grabbed hold of the men responsible and dragged them into the depths. They would not eat human flesh - but that didn’t mean something down there wouldn’t. Sofia’s eyes flashed when she recognized the first mate. He had been good. He had tried to save her. Now he clung to a small retinue of loyal men, adrift in a lifeboat. 

      She waited for sleep to take them. Then she grabbed hold of the rope and hauled with all of her might. And delivered them safely back to port. 


	2. Pyotr and His Little Fish

#  **Pyotr and His Little Fish**

 

_ Small Fishing Village near the Bering Strait, Russia, 1961 _

 

      Pyotr sat on the docks, his hands were busy with his fishing net, but he was watching the horizon. He and the other fishermen had spotted the whales moving south a few days earlier. With the whales on the move, he knew that he would see them again - the woman he loved, who would always choose the sea, and his precious daughter. It would only be a short visit, the pod was moving south for the winter, but he took what he got. This was his daughter's year to watch the calves, otherwise, she would have spent the summer with him, as she usually did. 

      He looked down to pick at a particularly difficult tangle. He nearly had it free when the silence was broken by distressed whistles. There! By the north shore! There were boats on the water, the men - outsiders - were shooting into the water. Others were struggling to haul something on board. A spear shot out, tearing through a man’s throat before pulling him under. Pyotr left his net and ran into town, raising the alarm. 

      The villagers raised north, some by land and some by sea. Pyotr fought off one boat - smacking soldiers with his oar. He managed to free one of the girls before dread filled him. The screams that filled the air fell into the back on his mind. Only one stood out now.

      “Papa! Papa!”

      He looked around frantically until he noticed her - fighting like the devil. The spear he had carved her for her fifteenth birthday was in her hands. She smashed one man over the head with the end before ending another. She was fighting towards the edge of the ship, trying to return to the water, to get towards him. 

      “Rybka!” but he was too late. The man behind her had a hand around her neck and was pressing something to her nose. Pyotr could only watch as his daughter went limp. Many of the ships were dead in the water. But too many were on the move now. 

 

      Back in the village were the wounded - villagers and sea tribes alike. A dark-haired woman moved through the crowd - checking on each group. She grew more frantic as she didn’t find who she was looking for.

      “Milaya.” He whispered. When she met his eyes, she knew. She collapsed against him, sobbing and keening for their child. There was no way of knowing where these people had gone. They didn’t know where they had come from, or how they knew about the sea tribes. They were the village’s closest kept secret. 

 

      Pyotr’s daughter awoke sometime later. The room they were kept in was too small, dark and cold. She couldn’t smell the ocean. Just dirt and snow. Someone had dressed her in a thing shift. An iron shackle chained her to the floor. She could move about the small mattress, but nowhere else. 

      Looking around, she counted. Five...ten...thirty…. Some she recognized - cousins, aunts. But most she didn’t - women from other pods who had joined with them for the trip south. Her brain was going a million miles a minute - trying to figure out why they were there, what was going to happen, how they could escape.

      Boot steps echoed. The women fell silent. Their eyes all trained on the door - full of anger and murder. The door swung open. The man who walked in first was neatly dressed - a clean white coat over casual attire. Behind him stood soldiers holding very large guns. 

      “Well, well. Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rybka isn't really her name, but it's what she's called on land because they can pronounce it. She's Sofia's great-granddaughter. Since I'm not inventing a whole Orca language, I'll just refer to her by whatever name/title she's being called by the other characters at the time.


	3. Subject Д5

#  **Subject Д5**

_ Secret Hydra Base, Russia, 1961 _

 

      Her wrists were bound together with heavy metal cuffs before she was unchained from the floor. The chains on her wrist were linked to a handful of others. Soldiers were stationed at both ends of every group, herding them out of the door and down a long corridor. One by one the groups were led into another room. They did not come out. 

      Finally, her group was led in. One by one, each girl was taken off the chain and strapped down to a chair. Doctors moved around, poking and prodding, hooking up sensors. She winced as the doctor stuck her arm with a needle. She released a series of angry clicks as she watched her blood flow into the waiting tube.  A stamp was pressed roughly into the side of her neck. Strung back together, they were led out of a different door and down another long hallway. 

      After several twists and turns, Rybka could see the end of the hall. There were several doors, and as they made their way down the hall, each door was opened, a girl was taken off the chain, and shoved through the door, and then the door slammed shut behind her. Rybka was the last on the chain. As they approached the final door, she kicked and fought against the men. A sharp keen ripped through her throat when one of the men shoved the end of his weapon harshly into her hip. Furious tears ran down her cheeks. She bared her teeth and snarled, lunging forward to snap at the offending soldier, only to be dragged back and tossed into a darkened room. Rybka tried to escape back through the door, only to collide with it as it slammed into place. 

      With the door closed, the room was nearly pitch black. The only light was that seeping underneath the door from the hall. After some time, that too was taken from her. With no light, she felt around the room. From the door, she felt her way to the left. 6 steps it took until she reached a corner. She closed her eyes to help focus in as she turned to go along the next wall, listening carefully the to sounds within her own room, trying to block out the distress cries coming from beyond. The cold feeling of metal against her toes was met with the scrap of metal against concrete. Kneeling down, her hands felt about. The item in question was round like a bowl but tall. One in was a flat circle, the other an open circle that felt larger than the closed in side. 

      Rybka wrinkled her nose in distaste. She had a feeling she knew what the intended purpose of this item was. Careful not to make too much noise, she set the metal bowl behind her and rose once again. All told, this wall was 15 steps. Another turn, another 15 steps. Another turn. 

      One step. Two. Three. Four.

      Oomph!

      Her foot had gotten caught on something and sent her falling to the floor. She braced herself for unyielding concrete but instead hit some sort of padding. She groaned and felt around. It felt like a bed. A thing and rickety one, but a bed nonetheless. It even felt like there might be sheets, a blanket, even a pillow!

      Resolved that she could do nothing else, she pulled the blankets tightly around her, building a tight den. So long as she could not see, there was little point to feeling around the room. After all, if they were giving their captives blankets, there was clearly no windows to escape from and nothing to hang from.

      The day's exhaustion ran together with dread and despair and soon the dark tidal wave of emotion carried her under into a fitful slumber.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

      A blinding light tore Rybka from her slumber. 

      She blinked and squinted against the unexpected light, emerging from her den and immediately going into a defensive stance. The door clicked several times before creaking open. Two soldiers entered the room carrying long sticks, the ends of which crackled dangerously. They backed Rybka closer to the back wall opposite the door before one of them touched the crackling end of his stick to her ribs. Pain shot through her body and she let out a high pitched keen as she fell to her knees. The men took up positions slightly behind her, one on each side.

      The doctor from the day before entered. The soldiers shifted their grips as they watched her attempt to calculate an attack. When she lunged forward, both men set the crackling to her sides. Rybka withdrew into herself, whimpering softly. 

      “Now, now, there is no need for that. If you behave, we won’t have any need to hurt you, will we?” the man asked. He paused, seemingly waiting for an answer. One of the soldiers nudged her with his boot. She nodded, “Good. You understand Russian then?”

      Her nod was quicker this time. 

      “Good. That’s very good,” from his pocket he produced a roll. Carefully, he tore a piece off and offered it to her. Not trusting it, she turned her head away. Instead of the crackling edge, the guard to her right merely struck her with the blunt side of the stick. The blow landed harshly on her shoulder, “There is no need for that, soldat. If she does not wish to eat, she does not need to.” The doctor sounded pleased despite his words. 

      “What is your name?”

      She hesitated, only giving her name when she saw the soldier to her left begin to shift. She let loose a soft whistle that ended in three delicate chirps.

      The soldier to her left smirked and pressed the crackling end of the stick harshly into the soft flesh between ribs and hip. The doctor looked disappointedly at her as she let out a loud mournful whistle. 

      “What is your name?”

      With less certainty, she let out the same whistle and chirps.

      Again the pain, this time from the soldier on the right, who had moved more behind her.  He asked twice more, with the same results each time. At last, he shook his head sadly. 

      “Perhaps you will be more willing to speak when I return?” The doctor left her with the two soldiers. One of them raised their stick and made as though he would hit her. Both chuckled darkly when she flinched. She had not noticed that the crackling had ceased to come from the one on her left, and shrieked when he ran the end of the stick gentle down her thigh. He smirked wickedly. But both left the room when called by someone from the outside. 

      The door shut back in place and darkness fell once again. 

      Rybka retreated into the den she had created the night before, somehow feeling safer in the darkness. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

      The lights came on several more times, each time with a loud bang. Each time, Rybka cowered in her blankets, afraid of the return of the soldiers. In the distance, she could hear others in pain. She did her best to shove hopeless thoughts from her mind, but with no idea of where they were or how to escape even this room, it was quite difficult. 

      Despite the light being on, no one came for her. 

      The light never lasted for very long, but just long enough that she could decide to pull her mattress into the far corner - as the corner made her feel slightly more secure - and that the metal bucket could be placed in the corner nearest the door in order to keep waster furthest from her den. It was still rather uncomfortable. 

      She dared do little else in the light.

 

      But in the darkness, there was only so much sleeping she could handle. Sometimes she laid in her den, singing quietly to herself. Sometimes she sang the songs of her northern tribe - the calf songs, the migration songs, the songs of shore and ships. Other times she sang the lullabies her father had taught her in those times she lived on land.

      She was singing a song of lamentation when the lights banged on again. She stopped, listening as the sound of boots drew near. Her door clanged and swung open. Immediately she knelt where the soldiers had placed her last time - desperately hoping to avoid the pains of the last meeting. The soldiers seemed satisfied with that. 

      The doctor surveyed the changes with little interest when he entered. 

      “Shall we try again?” He asked and she nodded, “What is your name?” 

      She looked up into his eyes, trembling in fear. She opened her mouth and then closed it. Then again. He smiled encouragingly at her.

      “I… I do not know.” 

      The doctor smiled, “Then we shall have to give you one, no?” 

      She nodded slowly and was awarded a small piece of roll. This time she took it. She wasn’t sure when the last time she had eaten was. And she did not know when she would eat again. 

      The doctor began to call her  Д5 - what they had stamped into the side of her neck that first day. When she no longer resisted, he began to bring a small table and a recording device, keeping verbal notes where he referred to her as Subject Д5. He told her that this was a temporary name and that if she was good she would earn a real name. 

      The doctor asked all sorts of questions about where she was from. She told him she did not know the name of the town - which was true. The names that the ocean tribes called things were very different than what the land tribes called them. He also asked many questions about the ocean tribe - how many there were, how they changed, how they breathe, so on and so on. 

      When she would not answer, or if she did not answer well enough, the guards would beat her, and the doctor would take the food and leave. He would not return until she was certain he had forgotten all about her. 

      She missed the outside desperately. Her dreams slowly lost color, her memories of sunlight in the water fading to be replaced by the crackling and the sparks of light it produced. Sometimes she could hear the others screaming in the distance. Was it the distance? Was it the other girls or was it the ones on her hall? Was the screaming woman far away or was she right on the other side of this wall? Rybka couldn’t tell anymore. 

      A pack creature to the core, she began to crave the doctor’s visits. Slowly he brought better food - sometimes even fresh grilled fish - that he insisted she eat from his hand. The guards slowly changed from blows of the crackling stick to nudges with their boots, until one day they stopped bringing the sticks. 

 

      One day, Rybka sat at the doctor's feet, her head resting on his knee as he fed her the last bit of a roll.

      “Д5, would you like to go for a walk?”


End file.
